CHAPTER SIX
Angela looked at herself in the mirror. Her face was all sharp angles from the high-watt line of bulbs above the motel room double-sink and the yellowy light gave her a sallow look. Her hair was done up in a slick bun, all business, that made her face look more square than usual and her normal dark blue eyes now looked hazel with the color contacts. Her lips were nude-colored and she wore no other make-up.
She rolled her shoulders and the suit jacket she wore went with the movement, coming to rest somewhere else and tug at her skin more or less the same. She sighed and fixed the white collar of her button down--the same shirt she wore when she did do work as a waitress when the number of supernatural jobs was low. She checked her front for grease stains and then turned to Jae, only to do a double-take. She hadn’t really noticed him in the mirror, more focused on her own movements.
His hair was slicked back and brown and his eyes were more bluish than green with the tie he wore. He was wearing a tie. She tried to refrain from her eyes bugging out. She tended to play bad cop--the gum-smacking, ice queen agent--and he played good cop, someone everyone could rely on while realizing he was as human as them. They worked well like that.
Jae glanced over. “What?” He frowned a little. He looked almost shy. She wanted to laugh, but refrained. “The hair color will wash out with the next wash.”
She blinked. “That’s not the problem. What on earth are you wearing, dude?”
Then he caught on and rolled his eyes. “I figured I’d better look professional. Also, then I can play the tie-hating boyfriend at the wedding and no one will realize I moonlight as FBI.”
“You know, we could have had you be FBI or some government worker. Then no one could ask you questions.”
“Do you have a nosy family?”
Angela didn’t have to think on that one. “Yeah.”
“Then they’d dig--and I might have one less fake identity to fall back on.”
“True,” she mused. She looked over Jae. “So, you good to go?”
“Uh huh.”
“Time to have fun with the local fuzz then, eh?”
“Nobody says that anymore.”
***
“FBI?” Officer Draper asked.
It would appear that he’d just been spit out on the streets, Officer Draper. At least in Angela’s personal opinion. The young blond couldn’t help but swallow convulsively.
Jae nodded. She wanted to roll her eyes. They were both holding out their badges. Sure, they were fakes, but they were amazing fakes.
“That’s correct,” Jae said. “We’re Special Agents John Keller and Amelia Hart. I presume you’re Officer Draper because you also have an obvious name on your person as well?”
Angela raised her eyebrows. Officer Draper flushed.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, thumbing the brass plate on his chest. “Sorry. It’s just--you know, procedure.”
“I’m sure,” Angela said, in her best icy-chick voice.
Officer Draper gulped and turned to lift the crime tape to let them under. “If either of you two have cat allergies, I wouldn’t suggest going in.”
“We’ll be fine,” Jae said, rather harshly. He stepped under the tape and Angela followed him onto the property.
The house was a tiny thing--white siding and navy shutters--and it had that general old woman feel. Well, except for the broken windows with dried blood on them. Those didn’t quite fit.
Angela stepped in something that squelched then and looked down. She’d found herself in a mud puddle. Lovely. She was even in her only good pair of trousers. She checked out the rest of the yard--cracked sidewalks leading to patchy and sometimes yellow grass littered with muddy holes. There was a broken beer bottle and a can of grape soda on the lawn amidst a tangle of thorny, dead bushes.
“Well, this place could use some love,” Angela commented lowly, shaking her head.
“So could that officer. Eyes deadlocked on the seat of your pants. I mean, surely he has to have seen better?”
Angela smacked Jae on the back of the head. “What’s with you?”
“What’s with you hitting me? We’re in character.”
“Careful. Your jewels are next. Sexual harassment happens in the FBI, I presume. You were totally asking for it, too, if anyone asks.”
Jae rolled his eyes and sped up, walking up the concrete steps to the tiny, awning-covered porch. “Come on, we have cat-and-organ thieves to catch.”
***
She’d seen the interior of old ladies homes before. She’d been to grandmothers’ places and great-grandmothers’ places; mostly widows with nothing better to do than sew and stuff while their house aged around them with its plethora of dusty armchairs, intricately-carved wood furniture, and plastic fruit. This was something else.
Most of the furniture was covered in plastic and the carpet was pulling up at the corners from cats claws. Balls, feather and mice toys, and string littered the floor. A cat tower--a monstrous tower of carpet and rope--twisted its way to the ceiling and small shelves littered the walls.
Then there were the cats. Cats that looked like furry pillows littered the couch, floor, ottoman, and coffee table. There were kittens and adults but all had somewhat smushed faces and bug eyes.
And with the opening of the door, they were all looking at her. Well, Jae and her. But, jeez, those eyes.
“What is this place?” she asked, turning to stare at Jae. Jae seemed merely fascinated. There was clearly something wrong with him.
“It’s a cattery. I should have known,” he said, sounding pleased.
“A cattery?”
“Yeah, a place where cats are bred.”
“It’s the feline version of a puppy mill?”
“I don’t smell ammonia and it seems clean, so probably not.”
Angela looked around the room, lip curling a little despite herself. She noticed a few photos now. Photos of children, grandchildren, maybe. Okay, so the lady wasn’t completely isolated.
She jumped when she turned back around to see Jae gone and then looked down at the sound of a coo. He was crouched, playing with one of the things--this grayish one that was a little less ugly than the others, maybe.
“Jae?”
“Hm?”
“What are you doing?”
“It rubbed my legs and I thought I’d return the favor. It’s cute, isn’t it?” His eyes lit up then. “When you said Persian blue did you mean this color?” he asked, pointing down at the cat.
She looked at the thing. It was still gray. What was he talking about?
“What?”
“The cat is a Persian and it’s blue.”
She blinked and just gave him a look, one that said--What the heck? “Jae, not to question your mental health, but that cat is gray. Unless I’ve gone colorblind or I always have been and thus never noticed cats come in blue.”
“Blue is blue-tinted gray. It’s a pedigree cat term.” Jae sounded proud of himself.
That’s it, I got to get him out of here before he adopts one.
“That’s not what I meant, no,” she said. She tugged at the back of his shirt. “Don’t you think we should go ask questions now?”
“Oh, sure.” He stood up, cradling the cat in his arms. “Think I’m allowed to hold it?”
“Don’t strangle it and you’ll be fine? Why do you think I know?”
“Hello?” a voice asked.
Angela from Jae to an older woman who stood in a doorway down the carpeted hall. The woman had silver hair tied in a neat bun and bottle-end glasses. She also looked very suspicious and had a baseball bat, her left hand curled around it, fingers looking quite like talons--shaky talons, but talons.
Jae automatically straightened up, but it was then obvious he couldn’t exactly get his badge with a cat in his arms. Angela rolled her eyes and got hers out and held it up. The older woman, Marge if her research had been suffice, adjusted her glasses.
“Oh!” she said, looking surprised. “FBI? What are you doing here? They normally call firefighters when it comes to cats, don’t they?”
Angela tilted her head. Was she being sarcastic? Jae sniggered beside her, quietly. She nudged him with her shoulder.
“Actually, we think this whole ordeal might be a cult thing. We’ve seen it happened in Mississippi--people are hurt, cats are stolen, cow blood. It’s all very horrible, actually. We won’t tell you the details.”
Marge nodded, seeming perfectly fine with that. Then she noticed the cat in Jae’s arms. “Well, come on in the kitchen, then. I have sweet tea ready and I’m sure you two young people deserve it, dealing with things like you do. Feel free to bring Moby there, son. He’s one of the last of Moondust’s kittens, though, so treat him well.”
“Moondust?” Angela heard herself ask the question, but she didn’t recall planning on asking.
“Yes, Moondust. One of my cats those godless hooligans stole. He was such a beauty--fur white as snow, the sort of snow I grew up with, of course, and near perfect confirmation.”
Is she speaking Latin? Should we exorcise her?
Then Marge took on a sad look. “I can’t believe nice Officer Draper didn’t tell you their names. Honestly, who’s going to look for a nameless cat?”
“What was the other cat’s name?” Jae asked, appeasing as ever.
“Rocket Man,” the lady said. “He was red, you see. I know the flames that the shuttles let loose aren’t really red, but--well, I did always like Elton John.”
Angela nodded. ice taste when it comes to music, at least. Of course, she was sort of stuck in time when it came to music.
The kitchen was quaint. It was the first thing she’d really needed to use that for. With its frilly, rooster-covered curtains, sterile white paint, and old green cabinets it fit the bill. She watched as Marge Murphy got a tabby cat off the counter and pulled iced tea out of the fridge.
When she turned, she had this wistful look on her face. “You know, this is the first time I’ve had guests in so long. My son Roger doesn’t visit too much anymore.”
“That’s no good. Any reason why?” Angela asked, voice coming out weird. She was used to dealing with upset people but hearing about someone else’s family issues merely reminded her of her own.
“Not particularly,” Marge said. “I believe he’s superstitious. Believes that cats steal babies’ breath and all that hogwash.” One of the cats wound its way around her polyester-covered legs as she said so.
Never heard of that one. Probably should check in on it. Demonic cats, maybe?
“Too bad,” Jae said.
“I take it you’re an animal lover? Moby is normally quite shy,” Marge said, still all smiles--but they were directed at Jae.
Of course, old women always liked Jae. Normally in a more Cougar-like way, but still.
“Uh, yeah. I guess. Never owned a goldfish, though. My parents were pretty--strict,” Jae grimaced for a flash of a second. “Probably could have one now, but the job, ya know?”
Marge frowned, shaking her head. “I know. My husband was in the navy. It’s not the same, but I can imagine it could make things difficult--the schedules you work and all.”
Jae nodded and put Moby down on the floor. The cat promptly fell asleep on Jae’s loafers.
Okay, that’s weird as the tie.
“So, he began, drawing out his notebook and pen, “were both cats male, then?”
“Yes,” Marge agreed. “They were two of my best studs.”
Angela narrowly avoided making a face. It was just--letting animals breed in your home. Was that normal? She didn’t think that was normal.
Jae got a certain look on his face, one that told her maybe something had clicked for him. “Was anything else stolen?”
“A couple of old gold candelabras, yes. I decided not to tell, though,” Marge said, very confidentially. “They came from--well, they didn’t get here legally. It was years ago, but still. I don’t want more of a reputation.”
Okay, Marge, that was pretty awesome.
“Don’t worry, we won’t tell,” Jae said, winking. Marge grinned and then held out two cups filled to the brim with ruddy tea. Angela hadn’t had any in years.
“Here you are,” Marge said.
Angela shook a hand. “No, no thank you.”
“Oh, she doesn’t take opened drinks. Bad experience.”
Marge’s look suddenly turned pitiful. Angela leaned back.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, dear,” Marge said.
Angela tried not to go bug-eyed.
I dislike him so frickin’ much right now. So, so frickin’ much.
“F-fine,” she stuttered out, going to hide partially behind Jae. Sure, he’d caused the awkwardness, but she had to get away from that look. What was it with old women and their pitiful looks, anyway?
“So,” Marge said, obviously knowing enough to change the subject, “have you ever thought of getting a cat, Mr.--?”
“Keller.”
***
“I still don’t believe those cats cost that much,” she said, looking at Jae with distaste. They’d walked the two blocks to her car and she was now slouched in the passenger seat, waiting for Jae to hop in. She was tired of driving.
“What? 800? That’s kind of low, actually,” Jae said.
“Oh my gosh, you looked it up, didn’t you?”
“I researched this case, yeah. I told you.”
She couldn’t help but let out a little laugh then. It was just--she’d never seen Jae like that. Ever. It had been hilarious, even if she was pretty sure Marge now thought she’d had a run in with the DR drug.
“She could obviously tell I was poor, though. She suggested I get a cat from the pound so I wouldn’t be so lonely.”
“When was that?” Angela asked, giving him a weird look as he buckled in.
“After you were out of the house. After that she suggested I try and date you since you obviously seemed to comfortable around me.” Jae smiled creepily.
“Lovely, Jae, lovely.”
“Eh, it’s got me in the mood, though. Ready to go be wonder boyfriend!”
“Again, lovely.” She narrowed her eyes, taking in Jae’s decidedly happier features. “So, you’re in a good mood.”
He shrugged.
“You’re never in a good mood.”
He gave her the evil eye (well, not really) and twisted the key. The car started up with a metallic purr.
“You know, you mentioned your parents to her. You never mention them to me.”
“I was acting.”
“Did your parents say you couldn’t have a pet?”
Jae looked uncomfortable, but she didn’t feel like stopping now. She’d had to lay herself bare with all the raw honesty she could muster. He could answer a simple question.
“Yeah. Not that it matters.”
Jae gunned the engine--an odd thing to do in an old Cordoba--and they were off. If they hit trashcans because of Jae being reckless enough she was gripping the sides of her seat, she couldn’t tell. They were practically driving a tank.
